


Hero's Reward, Queen's Desire (Both II)

by Ndara



Series: Both [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 03:45:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4375991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ndara/pseuds/Ndara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Show-verse, AU, post 5x10. Sequel to "Matchmaking", stands on its own, but makes more sense after reading "Matchmaking". Rated R for sexual content. Daario succeeded in his matchmaking, but he is not happy, not happy at all. Jorah M./Daenerys T., Daario N.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hero's Reward, Queen's Desire (Both II)

They were completely lost in each other. The world ceased to exist, all dissolving into shadow. They were but a man and a woman, two naked bodies longing to be one. They both wanted to pace themselves, to study each other, to savour the moment, but could not. They had waited for too long. They were still unfamiliar with each other and a bit clumsy, not entirely sure what exactly the other wanted at any given moment, but eagerly drinking in every hint to meet each other's need.

He was showering her breasts with hungry kisses, when she, too impatient, slid her hand down between their bodies and guided him inside her. As he buried himself in her scalding depth to the hilt in one swift motion, a sickening thought hit him like a lance through the heart: what if it was just another dream, and she would again vanish into thin air, leaving him growling and thrashing about in agonizing frustration on his cold narrow cot?

Yet she was there, panting and sobbing, meeting him thrust for thrust, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. And her lips were right in front of him, his to devour, full and sweet, a dream come true. She bit on his lower lip, sucking it in, and moaned into the kiss as he changed the angle of his thrusts and hit some new sensitive spot inside her. His name on her lips made tears well in his eyes – so stupid. He hastened to turn his head to wipe them off on his shoulder, utterly embarrassed, but she saw it, caught his face between her hands and gathered the wetness from his eyelashes with her lips.

"Yes!" she whispered, as if she was able to read his thoughts, "It's all for real, it's me, it's you! Do you want me to say your name again? Do you want me cry it out?" He could only gasp, and she did cry out his name and more, making an echo repeat her moans: "Yes, oh yes, please, like that, it's so good!.."

He strived to make it last, but was failing miserably, and as she felt his peak approaching, she laughed softly and withdrew with a sly smile: "Not so fast, my bear!" She had him kneel and sheathed him within her, urging his arms to wrap around her waist and lower. He reveled in the challenge and held her close and strong, rocking his hips in short sharp jolts, his arms hard and tense around her.

Once again she freed herself from his embrace and pushed him down on the carpet, now mounting him. She grabbed his arms by the wrists and pinned them above his head, tormenting him with ever so slow movements of her hips; he tried to move his, but was immediately punished with a pinch on his nipple.

"Want it faster? Beg!"

"Mercy, your Grace, my glorious Queen, mercy... I must, this is so good…"

"You don't seem to want it that much," teased she.

"Khaleesi, please!.."

That word from his lips had such power over her, that she threw her head back at once with the loudest moan, clenched tight around him and collapsed onto his body, all sweaty and glistening in the lamp light. With an eager growl he rolled over, pinning her down in his turn and claimed her again, savouring the fading paroxysms of her pleasure that hastened his own release. She could not move a muscle and just submitted to his uninhibited passion with a shameless smile. When he finally slid out of her, but a moment before spilling himself all over her stomach, she felt as if there was not a single bone left in her body. With a blissful sigh he awkwardly rolled away and stretched out on his back beside his beloved. Then he took the deepest breath and turned his head towards her:

"If I die now, I'll die the happiest man."

"That's what you think about? I think how I want you again, already. You – and at least a mouthful of water. And a piece of cloth," she purred in his ear, "You came so hard you almost flooded me."

"Take what's left of my shirt; I'll have to find a new one anyway."

"I shall miss it!" whispered she.

Then she looked around and, luckily, saw a plate of fruit on the nearest corner of the table. She reached and picked a piece of fruit from the plate and, looking deep into his eyes, whispered softly: "I brought you a peach." He laughed quietly and pulled her in: "Yes, I remember."

She brought the fruit to his lips and made him take a luscious bite. Juice ran down his cheek and further along his neck, and she leaned in to lick it, then made him take another bite and sealed his lips with hers to catch the juice before it dripped. Their tongues teasingly fought for the last piece of peach in his mouth. With a soft stifled laugh he rolled over pinning her to the floor and let her have her prize. She swallowed and licked her lips: "Delicious." In response he claimed her mouth again and moved to press his growing arousal against her stomach. She moaned: "Yes, but I am still all sore! We changed positions so many times that now I am as dry as the Red Waste."

"Easily cured," he smirked, kissing his way down her body. Slowly she bent her knees and let her legs fall open for him, to let him taste her better. "Delicious!" muttered he between wide sweeps of his tongue over her folds, "Mouthwatering!" Anxious for their bodies to be joined again, she slid her hand down and began stroking her most sensitive spot with her fingers, as his tongue danced at her opening.

"Now!" finally panted she, and he hastened to obey.

This time it was not so passionate as it was gentle and meaningful. He lowered his head to press his forehead against hers as he entered her; she welcomed him with a sigh of satisfaction and, never looking away from his eyes, wrapped her legs around his waist again.

Before he crashed onto her like waves crash on the rocks of the Bear Island, and now he took his time really treasuring the moment, teasing her with slow deliberate thrusts, with kisses sweet and tangy like blueberries, and caresses languid like pine sap dripping down the bark on so rare in the North hot summer evenings. And she savoured him, her hands roaming all over his back, now travelling down to his hips, now coming back up to run through his hair.

He held her face in his palms like his greatest treasure, and she felt his shoulders strain and vibrate – he was propped on his elbows for too long for fear of crushing her. She urged him to roll over and mounted him, placing his hands upon her breasts and throwing her head back. She winced when he accidently brushed her nipples too briskly and added with a quiet laugh: "They are still too tender, careful, my bear!" He sat up wrapping his arms around her waist and begged for forgiveness with a deep kiss. And it was granted. Furthermore, she whispered something in his ear, almost blushing, slid off him and knelt on the floor with her back turned to him, offering him her lips over her shoulder.

He gasped; he was wise enough to know that there can be no such thing as a humiliating position, when two willing people come together in love and both want it exactly this way; after all, there were things that he enjoyed the most, while some men found those very things degrading. Yet for her to submit to him like this…

He kneeled behind her and kissed her lips tenderly, and then whispered in her ear, his voice a low rumble: "My Queen, I fear I might turn into a wild beast if I take you like this." Blushing like a maid she whispered back: "All the better. Do. I want you to. And… I didn't have the time to tell you before… Stay inside me, it's safe." Set aflame by her command he ran his palm all the way up her spine and softly pushed her between her shoulder blades. With a purr and a lustful smile she let him make her temple press into the carpet and threw her hair out of the way to watch him the better.

And he was a sight to behold, all taut like a cocked crossbow, his face a battleground where animalistic lust and genuine tenderness clashed together. With tenderness temporarily winning, he withdrew a little and leaned in to make sure she was still wet enough, got lost in her at once and eagerly licked away, until she begged him to take her then and there.

His eyes hazy like those of a drunk, he dug his fingers into the skin of her thighs and plunged deep and fast. In a hoarse throaty voice that so little resembled her usual, she urged him to make it even deeper, harder. He obeyed, but she urged him further still, locking her eyes on his and sucking on her finger so that he could see. Just as he had warned her, all this turned him into a wild beast indeed, teeth bared, brow knitted, every muscle tense, his groans becoming low roars, and she only moaned, and begged for more, the spasms of pleasure making her even tighter for him.

All this was too much, and before long he cried out with a violent shudder and after a couple more thrusts collapsed beside her, struggling for breath. Just as exhausted, she crawled closer to him and rested her head on his chest. She heard his heart pounding right against her ear and smiled at its rhythm growing steadier as the time passed. Finally he was able to raise his hand and began slowly stroking her tangled hair. "I made such a mess," whispered he, but she only laughed, tracing old scars on his chest and stomach with her fingertips and now and then placing a light kiss on his nipple.

It was during those peaceful moments, much more intimate than the most passionate embrace, that they both heard a grumpy voice from behind the table:

"Seven hells!"

Dashing lover and invincible warrior Daario Naharis, a handsome man in his prime and a sell-sword at the peak of his career, thank you very much, enviously plunged his teeth into an apricot, his head propped on his hand, a whole pile of apricot stones and an empty wine pitcher in front of him. One of the lamps standing on the table had already gone out, the other was about to. Somewhere outside the guards hailed each other: it was a new watch, second watch since Daenerys and Jorah lost track of time.

Daenerys, back from her reverie, lifted her head from Jorah's chest and stared at Daario as if she didn't recognize him. Jorah winced at the sound of the voice that brought him back to his senses and to the utterly embarrassing situation at hand.

Having finished with the apricots, Daario, completely frustrated, picked a stone, smashed it with the pommel of his dagger right on the table, and threw the kernel into his mouth only to curse and spit it out at once. It was painfully bitter, much as the last several hours had been for him.

"So, that's how it goes? I bring two loving hearts together, and what do I get?"

"You wanted to watch, remember?" muttered Jorah, his eyes shut.

"Not like this! You went for it like I wasn't here. I have feelings, too, you know."

Jorah stared at the ceiling: "If I had a gold dragon for every time _I_ was jealous of _you_, I'd buy the King's Landing and hire all the Lannisters to dance for me, naked."

"Ah, so that's what it must have been like to be you! Now I get it and feel a little better. After all, what am I worried about? She picked me first and kept me by her side all this time, and you had just been moping around, following her with those hungry eyes and salivating, and still would be, if it wasn't for me. I want my credit."

"You have it. All this would have never happened if it wasn't for you. Minstrels will sing of your noble sacrifice."

"Minstrels don't sing about the likes of me. Drunken sailors might. I was a fool."

Daenerys, coming back to her queenly self, had enough of their banter. She sat up and wrapped her long discarded dress around her body.

"Both of you, behave! You are both dear to me, in a different way," here she stuttered and blushed a bit; Daario grinned and licked his lips, but choked on his grin as he saw her eyebrow fly up – never a good sign. "I want you both by my side, and you must find a way to get along." Her soft voice gradually turned colder and colder, and her lips, still a little swollen from all the kisses, crooked in contempt. "From this moment on I order you to look out for each other. Should any harm come to one of you, any harm at all, I shall blame the other and put him to a lingering, humiliating and painful death. I will have you both, or I will have none. Ours is not an ordinary situation, but I am not an ordinary woman. If either of you want, he may leave, for good, but I will have no more of your bickering. Now get out, both of you, and send in my handmaiden with water and more wine."

Jorah and Daario picked up their clothes and stumbled out. Outside they dressed by a crackling torch and exchanged grim glances. Younger man bit his lip and asked in a low voice: "Will this even work? What do you think?" Jorah could only shrug, but, after a moment's hesitation, he turned to Daario, held out his hand and said: "We might try. For her."

They looked into each other's eyes for some time, and finally Daario took his hand and squeezed it hard. Like a brother.

Well, almost.


End file.
